


Three Nonconsensual Stories For The Kink Meme

by Rubynye



Category: Star Trek XI
Genre: Aliens Make Them Do It, F/M, Ficlet Collection, M/M, Multi
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2010-01-10
Updated: 2010-01-10
Packaged: 2017-10-06 02:50:00
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 3
Words: 2,904
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/48875
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Rubynye/pseuds/Rubynye
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Aliens force them to do it.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Untitled Non-Con #1: Chekov/Sarek

**Author's Note:**

> Written for the First Star Trek Kink Meme

Title: Untitled Non-Con #1: Chekov/Sarek  
Fandom: Star Trek XI  
Rating: NC-17 with warnings  
Pairing: Chekov/Sarek  
Summary/Prompt: [Aliens make them do it](http://community.livejournal.com/st_xi_kink/8893.html?thread=26346173#t26346173), from the Kink Meme.  
Content Advisory: **Nonconsensual sex.** Slash, violence.  
_Disclaimer:_ None of the named characters or their settings belong to me.

Pavel sobs helplessly, laid out on his back, arms stretched taut above his head, chill metal manacles securing his wrists. He sobs and curses himself for his weakness, curses the merciless captors who have drugged and bound him, stripped and blindfolded him for no better reason than to torment another sentient being. As he writhes in his bonds, twisting away from their prodding, pinching fingers, he tries to cling to his training and his math, but everything he's learned slips away, the numbers crumble into the seething red darkness behind his eyes, the drug pounds feverishly inside his skull and he coughs and curses and sobs.

Then three fingertips land lightly on his brow, calm radiating from them in silvery blue waves. _Do not fear_ echoes through his mind, soft like warm arms, deep like bedrock. _Do not fear_. He gasps a huge breath, hope unfurling in his chest--

\-- and just as soon foundering and shattering against the undeniable bluntness nudging into him, the heavy, hot body bearing down on his. Pavel's ankles are manacled as immovably as his wrists, his thighs helplessly canting open under the press, and twist and buck as he may all he does is impale himself further. He shouts and screams futile threats, furious imprecations as his body is invaded so deeply he can seemingly feel it in back of his throat, tearing him from his possession of himself.

The hand returns, large, long-fingered, apology in its light strokes. Its touch over his breastbone somewhat calms his racing heart, it skims the vulnerable pound of his pulse and sweeps tears from his cheeks before resuming that three-point touch. _I beg pardon,_ says the voice in his head, and Pavel knows he has heard it aloud before. _This is not by my will._ Slowly, in heartbeats and millimeters, the man over him presses into him, and though the stretch crackles, uncomfortable and unwanted, the pace is so slow it hurts much less than the rigid fire around his straining wrists.

Pavel believes that voice, this hand. He knows he would know who's with him if he could just think, he tries to say as much but all that rips from his throat are shuddering sobs. "Shhh," he hears, a low sibilant whisper and heavy slow breaths, the long fingers brushing through his damp curls, soothing over his scalp. The thrust reverses, pulling him with it, so slowly he can't breathe, can only quiver, gasping and suspended.

"_Pozhaluysta_," Pavel sobs as the push returns, _please, please_. Please stop, please speed up, pleas for comfort. He begs with broken words and broken voice as he is penetrated inexorably again and again, hard hips rhythmically bearing down on his, every breath thick with the scents of hot skin and his own sweat. The man with him can't stop, doesn't speed the metronome pace, but keeps skimming Pavel's skin with those long reassuring fingers, smoothing away his tears, blunting the edges of agony, supporting the thread of his awareness against snapping.

Behind them, parsecs distant and a meter away, there's a harsh impatient noise. "Harder," demands one of their captors, and Pavel shakes helplessly at the sound of that voice, associated with torment.

"No," Pavel hears above him, the deep resonant voice that has echoed through his mind, stirring dread and surety in equal measure, and he _knows_ that voice, if he could just pull together his shattered mind and think...

He hears a flexing electric crackle. "What is this squalling little human to you?" asks their captor, hissing as if with a forked tongue, "Ambassador?" Pavel's heart slams against his ribs, he knows now, he knows, and as he moans despairingly their captor laughs a sharp cackle. This is Ambassador Sarek, and Pavel has failed him twice; his guilt over losing Lady Amanda led him to take the rear as their party fled, to give himself up to buy the rest time to escape, and he failed in that bargain, the Ambassador's been captured as well.

_Sorry, so sorry,_ he thinks because he can't speak, racked with choking sobs, but the fingers brush a benediction across his forehead. "I will not harm him further," says Ambassador Sarek over Pavel, voice steady, rhythm unchanged.

A whipcrack slices the air, there's a waft of ozone, but the Ambassador doesn't flinch or shake. "Harder," insists their captor as the whip cracks again; this time it curls around Sarek's side and flicks over Pavel's ribs, like a burst of lightning just beneath his skin. Before he can think to brace himself he arches and screams, and hears the cruel cackle again. "Make him make that pretty sound again, or we will."

The Ambassador rumbles, subterranean deep, and the next push is indeed harder, bottoming out, knocking a hitching whimper up Pavel's throat. _I beg forgiveness,_ his echoing voice whispers in Pavel's mind.

"No, no," Pavel whimpers, desperately struggling with everything in him towards speech. "No, I am sorry, I have wronged you again, I, I--" His voice breaks entirely, he's wrenched by sobs too violent to breathe through, but he thinks, _your wife, your lady wife, I'm so sorry I killed her, Ambassador, I'm so sorry--_

_Be at peace,_ Ambassador Sarek says in his head, even as the next thrust shudders through them both. _I forgive you, Ensign. I will hurt you no more._ There is a moment's breathless pause, everything as still as before an earthquake, and then the Ambassador shakes over and within Pavel, emptying himself in a series of spasms that seem to bring no pleasure, just release.

Their captor spits a high-pitched, sibilant phrase, and snarls, "That was unwisely premature." Pavel gulps air and braces himself as best he can by the Ambassador's solidity, the cool calm radiating from his touch, listening for the next crack of the electric whip.

What he hears instead, whistling and welcome, are phaser-blasts, masonry crashing, the cries of their captors and the shouts of angry Federation officers. Ambassador Sarek pushes away, dragging from Pavel's body, and he bites his lip until it throbs to keep himself silent. "Oh, hell," he hears muttered in a woman's voice as a blanket settles over him, and much more crisply, "Ambassador Sarek, sir. Please hold this, we'll have you aboard in moments. Ensign Chekov, we'll have you loose even sooner."

Pavel's face is dripping wet, if he opens his mouth he'll do nothing but whimper, so he nods silently, and a laser scalpel whines at his wrists before they fall free. Large hands reach for his, helping him up as the shackles drop from his ankles, but the arms enfolding him are bare; Pavel pushes the blindfold off and looks up into the long still face of Ambassador Sarek, a dark green bruise mottling his temple.

He tries to speak and his vision spins with all the drugs still in his system; the Ambassador brushes his fingertips over Pavel's eyelids, and he obediently shuts them, shivering, his hands in useless fists as the Vulcan Ambassador tenderly pulls the blanket around his bare, raw shoulders. As noise and shouts swirl around them and the medic runs her tricorder over them, Sarek presses his three fingertips to Pavel's face again. _Thank you,_ Pavel thinks, for the Ambassador's forgiveness, for his efforts to not hurt him, for everything.

_I could not be cruel to you,_ Pavel hears echo through his mind once more. _You remind me of my Amanda._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> [The Original Prompt](http://community.livejournal.com/st_xi_kink/8893.html?thread=26346173#t26346173):
> 
> _Aliens are making them do it and will kill them if they don't, but Sarek is determined to be gentle and loving because he regrets all those times he was too rough with Amanda. Mid-way through, Chekov blurts out that he's sorry he killed Amanda, and Sarek whispers, "I forgive you" right before proving it, if you know what I mean. *is shot for lame innuendo*_
> 
> _Gentle, loving, sweet, regret-filled angsty sex, please.  
> _
> 
> I wrote this because the requestor said no one would fill it, whereupon my horrible little mind presented me with the scenario. There's nothing here I haven't written before (apparently this fandom has introduced me to a thing for blindfolds I never knew I had, to say nothing of telepathy during sexual assault -- sometimes I scare myself) but the combination was interesting.
> 
> I keep asking myself whether or not Sarek offered Pavel the option of wiping his memory. What do you think?


	2. Untitled Non-Con #2, Gaila/Kirk

_   
**Untitled Non-Con #2 (Star Trek XI, NC-17 with warnings)**   
_

Title: Untitled Non-Con #2, Gaila/Kirk  
Fandom: Star Trek XI  
Rating: NC-17 with warnings.  
Pairing: Gaila/Kirk  
Summary/Prompt: Another take on "their captors made them do it", for [this prompt](http://community.livejournal.com/st_xi_kink/8627.html?thread=25201587#t25201587).  
Content Advisory: **Nonconsensual sex.** Het, technology, a non-unhappy ending.  
All Thanks To: The anon who requested this in the first place, and as ever, [](http://lomedet.livejournal.com/profile)[**lomedet**](http://lomedet.livejournal.com/).  
Author's Note: In first comment.  
_Disclaimer:_ None of these characters or their settings belong to me.

He holds her hand the entire time, her fingers curled, his shaking as he thrusts. "Sorry, I'm sorry," he mutters into her neck, between an assortment of mumbled curses; she nods against the top of his head, her teeth denting her lip, tears sliding from her tightly shut eyes. A scream's struggling up the back of her throat, panic welling like blood, but she swallows hard and presses her lips as tightly as her eyes. She's been in a grotty room like this before, the air thick with sex and fear, jeering men howling as she was punished for helping another girl escape, and she wants absolutely nothing more than she wants to twist out from under him, cover her ears against the noise, shriek and kick at the bars of the cage as if she could break through. But she holds herself still even though each thrust jars her, breathes through her nose, doesn't make a sound.

Jim can't be as quiet, gasping damply over her throat, but the pirates _did_ demand a show. He's trying so hard not to hurt her, moving shallowly until the big Nausicaan leader shouts, "Harder, Feddie! _Fuck_ that green whore or we will!" Jim growls then, his shoulders tensing even more, and Gaila strokes his neck, conveying acceptance in the touch as best she can, keeping his head down before he shouts something gloriously defiant and probably unhelpful.

Besides, she needs a little more time. She gasps when Jim obeys the Nausicaan -- it hurts, unavoidably, and she turns her face away as she sobs once, her fingers clenching into a fist. "Shit, Gaila, I'm so sorry," Jim whispers, his lips just brushing her pulse, and she nods again, squeezing the back of his neck, uncurling her fingers into his hand. She paused on 'diag.', but Uhura's on the comm, she'll definitely understand.

What the pirates don't know, as they rub themselves, grunting and shouting, watching Jim and Gaila fuck on the floor of a metal cage, is that Jim broke the flip-plate off his communicator and closed his hand around it. The pirates took his clenched fists for useless defiance, he hung onto the communicator the whole way here, and as soon as they could hold hands Gaila started typing. The pirates' transporter jammer, set up on the table the Nausicaan's leaning on, is a simple piece of bootlegged crap. Gaila could disable it with her bare hands or reprogram it remotely with a few tools; instead she types its specs into the communicator, which vibrates silently in response. _We hear you,_ Uhura tells her in pulsed code. _Keep going._

She does, though her sweaty fingers smear across the keys, though Jim's thrusts are getting erratic and his breath hitches into a sob. He's young, after all, it's just physiology. "I'm gonna kill these bastards," he groans under her ear, his strongest apology yet, and he never needed to be forgiven anyway.

"Okay," she manages to gasp, tilting her hips up just so, a move recalled from a lifetime ago. This angle hurts worse, she hisses and Jim shudders, his face wet against her skin. "It's okay," she grits out through clenched teeth, pushing her palm down flat between his shoulderblades. "Come on." She finishes typing, and tells herself they can pull this off. "Make some noise."

Jim puffs a harsh laugh against her chin, and his deliberately loud groan is swamped by the pirates' eager cursing and shouts that shake the bars as he comes. Gaila's gasping too fast, making herself dizzy; she stills her lungs with one more effort and pushes her nose into Jim's hair, takes a slow breath despite her quaking ribs, forces herself to think about the times she's enjoyed his scent and not the disgusting audience just beyond the bars.

Then there's a pop, a fizzle, and a soft welcome whirr. Jim rocks up onto his knees, pulling Gaila with him, the communicator hard against the small of her back, as the pirates' shouts shift to alarm. The Nausicaan's ugly face twists as his disruptor shot sparks off the forcefield now strung between the bars. It won't last long, but it doesn't have to, the transporter's lights already whirl around them.

"Get ready to burn," Jim snarls as all the shouting faces fade away. Gaila may have been in a room of horrors like that before, but this time she's a Starfleet officer and Jim Kirk is her Captain. She rematerializes kneeling with him on the transporter pad, bruised, worn out and safe home.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So, [the prompt was](http://community.livejournal.com/st_xi_kink/8627.html?thread=25201587#t25201587):
> 
> _Can I have some non-con non-con up in here? I... I don't know why, but I find rapefic much more interesting if the person doing the raping is being forced to do so against their own will. I.e., 'rape him right now or I will do it and it will involve a soldering iron, a knife and you being forced to watch' kind of thing. Something where being raped by someone who doesn't want to do it is the lesser of two evils._
> 
> And, well, I share the anon's fascination -- I've always been intrigued by the idea of hurting someone to save them worse hurt, of enduring it knowing that's the motivation. So, even though I [already wrote this plot](http://rubynye.livejournal.com/405749.html ) I wrote it again.
> 
> I think it says something about my thought processes that in both cases I wrote couples who already had sexual knowledge of each other, who could use that to work together through the awful situation in which I placed them. In yesterday's (written after this, even though I posted it before) I didn't have that, and I found myself just about using telepathy as a substitute, to give the characters a way to ally themselves against their tormentors. But that's more than enough about my Process, as it were.


	3. Chekov/Sulu Noncon for the Kink Meme

Title: Yet another untitled [Kink Meme Ficlet](http://community.livejournal.com/st_xi_kink/7586.html?thread=18137506#t18137506)  
Fandom: Star Trek XI  
Pairing: Chekov/Sulu ; other characters appear  
Rating: NC-17  
Contents: Slash, non-con, bondage, violence.  
Warnings: Aliens make them do it, literally. Heed the list of ingredients.  
Disclaimer: Not mine no matter what I inflict on them.

This isn't them. Hikaru keeps thinking that as he groans with sick pleasure and the ropes burn his wrists and ankles, as Pavel moans in his ear and those long slender thighs tense over his. Pavel rocks as he rides Hikaru, because the bastards tied his hands behind his back and blindfolded them both, and he's been shivering since they dragged him over and made him suck Hikaru hard, but he moans because he's never not moaned when Hikaru's inside him. Hikaru's wrists might be bleeding but he keeps twisting them, trying to get one loose so he can touch Pavel's damp hair, stroke the shivers from his spine, and oh, untying them both and breaking a few heads would be good, too, if Hikaru could just get free. If he could just concentrate against the fire running in his veins, against how good Pavel always, always feels around him.

Even if this isn't them. This isn't how they are with each other, in bed or anywhere else. This is what their captors are forcing them to do, jeering lasciviously as Captain Kirk and Ensign Mahdevi shout from where they're chained to the wall, and none of it's louder than Pavel's moans as he rides Hikaru desperately. The bastards promised to release whichever of them comes first, to "tell your ship to mourn her feckless Captain and the Federation to stay away from our planet," and Hikaru can feel Pavel's determination in every thrust, hear it in every sobbing moan. If he could just touch Pavel he could even those odds too.

Pavel's sobs rise in pitch, and he shakes harder, he's going to come despite how awful this is, and Hikaru is fiercely glad. He doesn't trust their captors further than he could throw any of them (though with a tractor beam he could throw them into their fucking _sun_) but just possibly they'll do what they said so he rocks up as far as he can, thrusting to meet Pavel. He doesn't listen to the cheering rise, or the strain in Kirk's voice and Mahdevi's harsh weeping, or the smack each time their bodies meet; he bites his lip to suppress his own groan and listens to Pavel's voice, nosing blindly until he finds Pavel's jaw with his mouth and can murmur under cover of a kiss, "It's okay, we're okay. Go on, come for me."

And Pavel does, hot between their bellies, his whole body shuddering, his chest heaving as his voice breaks with his sobs, his tears tears wetting the side of Hikaru's face. Hikaru can't stroke his hair and his back, can't untie him and get them out of here, but he can kiss along Pavel's jaw to awkwardly meet his mouth, can kiss him with everything he can't say in this jeering circle, as comfortingly as he can. Pavel's shaking and gasping but he kisses back as he starts thrusting again, and he doesn't have to, he really doesn't have to, but Hikaru couldn't tell him so anyway. He can't give Pavel anything helpful but he can give him what he wants, he can come for him too, kissing him breathlessly through it like it's the last time, which it's looking like it might be.

The jeers rise to mocking cheers, and someone loudly and sarcastically says, "How sweet!" in Standard for their benefit. Footsteps stride towards them, and Hikaru feels Pavel tense at the sound, kisses him even more fervently for what little time they have left.

Then everything goes loud and white, and Hikaru finds himself lying on the floor, still in the chair, Pavel a tumble of limbs atop him as chaos surges around them. "_Enterprise_," says the cool welcome voice of Commander Spock, "beam five to Sickbay--"

"Four!" Kirk insists. "Let's clean this up, guys!" is the last thing Hikaru hears as the familiar transporter-beam tingle enfolds him. Pavel makes a hitching noise just as everything goes away, and Hikaru doesn't know if he was crying or laughing; he rematerialzes laid out on a bed, laughing himself because this narrow escape and the solid knowledge that the _Enterprise_ wouldn't leave them behind? _That_'s them.

His hands are free, and when he rips the damn blindfold off all he sees is Pavel safe on the next bed, bruised and red-eyed and holding out a hand to him, smiling ear to ear. This is definitely them.


End file.
